I am struggling.

I'm not posting this because I want sympathy, or because I want people to call me and tell me that everything will be ok. I know that it will - I just need to vent and wallow.

I think I may have some mild PPD going on.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a bad chest cold. Ian had it too and it was a rough couple of weeks. I haven't felt rested since then. I sleep and sleep, and I'm still tired.

Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, Ian woke me up at 3:30 am. Because he's been taking antibiotics, the pooping has been out. of. control. So I had to get up and change him; then he decided that he needed to be fed OMGZ RIGHT NAO!!!1! I gave him 2 oz of formula and got him back to bed. I went back to bed myself, only to lie awake for at least an hour before finally falling back asleep - to be woken up by the alarm an hour later.

Then when I got home, I was trying to make dinner while Jon entertained the D&D gang. Ian wouldn't stop crying, and I needed to pump and shower. The "30 Minute Meal" (my ass!) wasn't going like it should, and I jumped in the shower really quick while it was baking. I got out and it still wasn't finished. So an hour after I'd started cooking, I'd finally finished the "30 Minute Meal" (Rachael Ray, you can kiss my big fat butt). I delivered Jon's dinner to him and then sat down and tried to eat mine, but Ian would. not. shut. up. He just cried and cried. I finally just picked him up, sat down, and bawled right along with him. I'd had it.

Finally Jon came and took Ian so that I could go pump. Then he let me eat my dinner (which was not good - again with the butt-kissing, if you please, Ms. Rachael). The crisis was averted, and Ian and I both crashed by 9 pm.

So I slept from 9 pm until 6 am and I am still a zombie today. I just can't get any rest.

When I do sleep, I have these horrible nightmares. About Jon leaving me for some other chippie who cleans his house and cooks good dinners, or someone's keeping me from my baby. Or, much much worse, are the nightmares about someone hurting or killing my baby. There's lots of blood and it's just the most awful thing. I wake up crying a lot of the time.

Because I've been so tired, my milk supply is starting to go down. Last weekend, I pumped every 2 hours to try to get it to kick back into overdrive, but it didn't work. I'm taking these nasty Fenugreek pills that taste like maple syrup. They don't help.

And then when I try to talk about it to other BFing or pumping women, I get the lecture about how I could do X or take Y supplement and get my supply back up. Listen, people! If I thought those things would work, I would do them! I've reluctantly decided to start supplementing with formula, and it was a difficult decision because I wanted to exclusively BF until at least 6 months. It kills me that I can't.

And the final topper is my horrid coworker who's being a huge butt. She runs hot and cold and one minute she's talking to me and laughing, and the next minute she's glaring at me, slamming her keyboard around and throwing papers, and ignoring me when I speak. She complained that I didn't have enough to do (I'm not sure why that's her business) and told me I'd better ask the manager for more work. Which I did (again), to keep her happy. Then the manager took one of her things to give to me, and she pitched a hairy cat fit about that. You can't win with this woman. Jon thinks she's menopausal. Hmm a PPD new mother and a menopausal witch in the same small office? Recipe for disaster, if you ask me (hopefully not a 30 Minute Meal. God, I hate Rachael Ray).